Laments of a Soon To Be Rescued Sailor
by MildlyInsane
Summary: The Professor comes up with another plot to be 'rescued.' Gilligan would much rather stay on the island, but goes along with the plan for the benefit of the others. The thought of being rescued makes him feel a bit depressed, and a little emo...
1. Bad News, Ultra Sturdy Nails

Laments of a Soon-To-Be "Rescued" Sailor: (Gilligan Goes Emo)

Chapter 1: Bad News, Ultra Sturdy Nails

**_xxxxxx_**

**_A Message to you, the reader. Dictated by Gilligan.  
Written, proof-read, and edited for clarity by an irrelevant third party:_**

"Imagine, if you will, being stuck on a tropical island, deserted as far as you can tell. Some days the island would be visited by tribes from other islands, but most of the time, it would be all yours. Tropical fruit trees would surround you; you'd have all the coconut and bananas you could ever desire. There would be other fruits and vegetables too, and not the kind you'd buy at the grocery, but the good kind, tomatoes right off the plant, still warm from the sun's rays, fresh juicy pineapples, and even non-plant food, such as delicious fresh goose eggs, much better than mass produced packaged chicken eggs from the store... Fish in the ocean would be plentiful, if you liked eating fish, and everyone knows fresh fish is better than frozen. On this island, finding a delicious meal would never be a concern for you.

But what else would your deserted island have to offer? Every day would be warm, unless there was a rain storm, and even then it still wouldn't be too cold; you could always take shelter in a cave, or even build a little hut if you were good at such things. You could spend your days playing on the white sand beaches, with no annoying tourists in sight. You'd never have to pay any bills, or go to work, or talk to your annoying neighbour who is always stealing your newspaper.

On this island, you are free to do whatever you want. No one will stop you. You can sleep until noon, or even later. Snacks would be available whenever you wanted them... just pluck something juicy off a tree and eat it. No obligations. No responsibilities. No pesky neighbours, bosses, co-workers, or anyone else. What could possibly make life on this beautiful sunny island any better? Friends?

Of course! Friends would make it great, wouldn't they? Consider your friends. Who do they include? Mine include my role model, pal, and captain Jonas Grumby, who I just call Skipper. He's always telling me what do to, but I usually like him anyway. There is also Mary Ann, a nice farm girl who is a great cook, and an even better friend. There are Mr. And Mrs. Howell, rich millionaires where they come from, but overly dressed old folks with superiority complexes here. The Professor is another friend of mine, whose passion is science. He keeps to himself often, which I find respectable, but he always likes to try to help out when he can, with lots of useful inventions and plans. And lastly, there's Ginger, who also has a superiority complex. She's an actress, who is always trying to apply acting to completely unrelated situations here.

You'd think my buddies would make my life on this island better, wouldn't you? What could be better than having a wonderful island to share with your best friends? You'd think they would all just sit back and relax, have a good irresponsible time just like me, right? Well they don't. Sometimes they do, sure... but more times than not, they just spoil my fun. They try to make this place like home, but home was no good! That's why being here is so great! We don't need to try to turn this into our own little city... We don't need to all have breakfast together every morning, or wash our laundry every day! We have nowhere important to be, and washing laundry doesn't do any good when there's no soap... They all just like to create unnecessary work, usually making me help out... More than anything, they love to complicate this simple way of life as much as possible. Instead of enjoying how much it is dissimilar to our old lives, they try to make it exactly the same, and I'm fed up with it.

What's the point of escaping modern 'civilization' if we are just going to clutter nature up to be the exact thing we escaped from? No one here recognizes what I want. They each think for themselves. Unfortunately, their thinking all coincides with one-another, so they are always the majority; I'm always the odd man out, so whenever there's an 'important' decision to be made, we take an informal vote, and I lose 6 to 1.

So instead of living a blissful life of fun and simplicity, we spend all of our energy on something I don't even want - trying to find a way off the island. None of these people understand how fortunate we are to have ended up here. There are countless people in the world who would do anything to be in our position, to be able to find a nice tropical island where no one could find them... Can you imagine? If anyone knew we were here, they'd charge us property taxes out the wazoo.

We have come across a piece of natural land, completely free of charge. We get free food, shelter, and entertainment, with a very minimal amount of work needed. People pay good money to go on vacations in places exactly like this! And then what do we do? Create work, and try our hardest to get 'rescued,' so we can get back to our jobs, so we can go back to being pushed around by people who think they are superior to us, so we can pay for our low-quality food instead of getting fresh food here for free...

These people don't understand me at all. They don't understand anything I stand for. Sometimes I whole-heartedly wish I was the only human stranded here. Being all alone would be preferable to working toward something I don't want to achieve."

**_End of message._**

_**xxxxxx**_

Life on the island was sometimes like a dream for Gilligan. He loved the mild weather and the beautiful beaches, and loved the supposed lack of responsibility. The others should have followed his example and become irresponsible themselves. They actually did have their moments of irresponsibility, but rarely admitted it. Instead, they all just complained about how Gilligan was always messing things up, and always insisted that he help them in their stupid plots to be rescued. They also made him collect resources, even though leaving the bananas on the tree to be plucked individually as they were needed seemed an entirely more rational method to Gilligan...

Having his friends here didn't make his life any more fun. He actually sometimes wondered if he'd be much happier if he were here all alone. Being alone was scary... but there were chimps around here, and he could always make friends with them...

No amount of wishful thinking would grant him his desire to be alone with only the chimps and coconut trees as his friends. He was stuck with the lot of people who drifted in with him on the Minnow all those years ago.

He was so tired of all their negativity toward him. It seemed he could never do anything right, even when he tried his very hardest. The Skipper was always angry with him for some reason, because he always bumped into things, knocked stuff over, spilled things onto other things, and whatever else he could possibly do wrong... The Professor thought Gilligan was a complete idiot. Gilligan could tell by the way the man talked to him, explaining everything slowly, trying to manage to gain Gilligan's comprehension, but rarely succeeding. The Howells also thought he was an idiot... He supposed everyone on the island did... Yep. Ginger and Mary Ann too.

They all saw that Gilligan was worthless to their cause. He just wanted a life of simplicity, something he could achieve without any trouble. But not them. They wanted everything to be complicated, and Gilligan just couldn't seem to keep up with them.

Gilligan was beginning to see their points. He really did mess everything up all the time. And he really was kind of an idiot sometimes; he never understood what the Professor was talking about when explaining his complicated inventions. He didn't know anything about the money matters the Howells always spoke of. He couldn't cook like Mary Ann or act like Ginger, and he certainly wouldn't make a good captain like the Skipper... He was just the extra guy here. The worthless kid everyone else had to work around and keep out of trouble, but to what purpose? What would it matter to them if he stumbled off a cliff or got captured by headhunters? They'd finally be rid of him.

Being cast away onto a deserted island was the best possible solution to end everyone's suffering of him. The world could be rid of him, and he could be rid of the world. Perfect for everyone involved. Unfortunately for his friends, they were stranded on the island too. Sure, Gilligan wasn't screwing things up anymore back in Hawaii, but he was screwing everything up here, and all the unfortunate souls who had to share the island with him hated him for it.

Perhaps the reason he desired to stay on the island while everyone else didn't wasn't because _they_ were flawed... Perhaps _he_ was. They were each good at something. If they went back, they would be useful to the rest of the world. But what was Gilligan good for? If they ever were 'rescued' from the island, Gilligan would probably get himself and the Skipper shipwrecked again within a matter of weeks, with him constantly messing everything up. That is, of course, assuming the Skipper would even allow him to keep working on his ship. Would he? If they got off the island, would Gilligan even have anywhere to go? The Skipper would probably kick him to the curb as soon as he got the chance. He'd kick himself to the curb if he had to rely on himself as much as the Skipper did. Who would want to have a co-worker who always messed everything up? If the Skipper decided to fire him, Gilligan wouldn't be surprised. He'd fire himself too.

If they were rescued, Gilligan would be all on his own, and not in a good way. He'd be back in the real world, where stuff costs money. No one would hire him for a job, and if they did, he'd get fired the first day for messing up something simple. It was miraculous that the Skipper even hired him in the first place... There would be no way he'd manage to land another job. No way...

Being rescued, ironically enough, was Gilligan's worst nightmare.

He sighed as he sat on the top of a tall cliff on the edge of the island. He picked up a stone and looked at it. It was smooth, shiny, blue, and sort of pretty. Ordinarily he would have pocketed the stone, but he didn't feel like it today. What would be the point? He threw it and watched as it landed in the crashing waves below. The stone disappeared under the waves. He wondered how long it would take for the waves to engulf him if he was somehow thrown over the edge of the cliff.

Gilligan leaned over as far as he could without falling. Lately he rather enjoyed being a bit risky with his own life. He wondered how tall the cliff was. He wondered if it would seem taller if he were actually falling from it. Probably not until he hit the ocean below. The fall would be quick, but the impact on the waves and probably on some rocks would be painful, and would likely kill him.

Shaking his head to get those thoughts out of it, Gilligan leaned back toward the land, his heart beating rapidly and loudly in his chest. Being so close to falling off the cliff was exhilarating. He could have just fallen and died. Probably the waves would have taken his body away, and the other castaways would have never found him. They'd look for him, probably assume some native head hunters took him away and dined on his corpse... Eventually they would accept that he was gone and move on with their lives, finally able to carry out an escape plan without Gilligan around to mess it all up. They would be much better off without him.

"Gilligan," he heard the Skipper calling to him, "I've been looking all over for you!" the Skipper sounded overly excited. He probably was here to inform Gilligan of some plot to be rescued. Gilligan really did try to help in their plots, but always messed them up anyway. Even though he didn't want to be rescued, he respected the fact that his friends did, and didn't want to keep them here against their will. It would be horribly selfish of him to do so.

Gilligan turned around, squinting as the sun shined onto his face, "yeah?" he asked the Skipper.

"The Professor thinks he's finally made some nails that will hold up! The Minnow is destroyed, of course... You remember that..." Skipper seemed annoyed.

Gilligan frowned. The Minnow had been destroyed when they coated it in some gluey tree sap Gilligan had discovered. They had thought it was glue, but it turned out to be the opposite. The Minnow, which they had coated in the 'glue' fell to pieces, just another example of how Gilligan messed everything up. They had been so proud of him too... That was probably the proudest anyone had ever been of him, but he hadn't even deserved it. His glorious discovery was a phony disappointment, "Sorry, Skipper," he repeated what he had said numerous times before, "I really thought it was real glue..."

He must have appeared very sad, because Skipper lightened his tone immediately, "Don't worry about it, Little Buddy. We all thought it was glue too... You could have known. Anyway, we think the professor has some good sturdy nails now. We just need to make some boards. This is going to be the hard part. We'll have to cut down trees, and make them into boards by hand... It's going to be a lot of work, but it'll go by faster if we all chip in. It'll all pay off in the end when we sail back to Hawaii! Back to civilization, Gilligan!"

Gilligan looked at Skipper. He looked so happy, so Gilligan forced himself to smile, "oh boy," he said, accidentally making his joyful remark sound very fake, "uh... great. Rescued," he smiled a bit again. This made him feel sick. Not only would they be rescued (assuming he didn't mess everything up), but he'd also have to work really hard prior to being rescued. This meant that his last days on his beautiful island would be spent working toward an unfavorable goal.

"I know you don't want to work all day and night, Gilligan, but just think how happy you'll be afterward!" Skipper assured him, "when you're at home, in your nice real bed..."

"But I like my hammock," Gilligan frowned.

"Oh, come on, Gilligan," Skipper urged, "I know you're just saying that. I know you're just as excited as the rest of us to get rescued! We'll have nice beds again, cheeseburgers, french fries, milkshakes, steak, pizza, everything we don't have here!"

Gilligan frowned, "yeah, and jobs, and bills, and having to pay for everything,... pushy neighbors, tourists... when you want to lay back on a beach and relax, there's gonna be a billion other people there... And when you want a banana, you'll have to buy it instead of just plucking it off the nearest banana tree..." He felt he could go on forever, but stopped when Skipper whacked him over the head with his hat.

"Gilligan... After we get rescued, I'll never eat another banana again! Not if you paid me a million dollars!" Skipper let his hate for bananas be known, rather dramatically.

"I'd eat a banana for a million dollars," Gilligan disagreed, "especially after being 'rescued,' because I'm really going to need money. I've probably been evicted from my apartment by now. No way my landlord kept all my stuff in there when I haven't paid him... My rent was even late already on the day we were shipwrecked."

Skipper sighed, "will you just stop complaining, Gilligan? Being rescued is a good thing, and you know it! You're just dreading the work, that's all. You'll feel so much better when we're back to our old way of life."

Gilligan sighed. Even when he let his opinion be heard, no one really listened. He just told Skipper everything he usually kept to himself, but the older man just ignored him and pretended like Gilligan was only joking.

"Well," Skipper beamed, "let's hop to it!"

**_xxxxxx_**

**_Keep in mind, this is a somewhat comedic story, even if you don't quite see it yet. Gilligan is supposed to be a bit out of character... He's going emo. I know this could be interpreted as being sad, but it's just for fun. The reason it's funny is because we know Gilligan would never really be emo... It's that sort of irony where something is the opposite of what you expect. Forgive me; I haven't learned about the different kinds of irony in a long time. That, and the occasional sarcastic joke here and there should make it a bit funny, I hope... If not, you can just read it as a sort of angsty "Poor-Gilligan-Type-Thing." _**

**_Ha ha... No one is going to like this story... Also, I'm really not intending to offend anyone who believes that they themselves are "emo." If you LABEL yourself as an emo and are offended by this, stop reading it. (though I doubt any emo-teenagers are big fans of Gilligan's Island anyway...) I realize all those things associated with emos (being suicidal, self-injury, and whatnot) are serious issues. Self injury is not funny... but this is just an internet fan fiction story...I am in no way encouraging anyone to be "emo," or to do things associated with "emos."  
_**

**_Um... here's my disclaimer: I don't own Gilligan's Island. (but you already knew that)_**

_**Oh... If you read this, will you be so kind as to REVIEW it? **_

_**I know at least 11 people read my previous Gilligan's Island story all the way till the end. And I think 17 read the last chapter, but six of those did not read two of the chapters in the middle... I don't get why you'd want to do that, but okay... (Anyway, I know 11 readesr is not a lot... but if I got even 5 of those people to review each chapter, I'd have lotsa reviews) ^_^ You don't have to review a billion times though. I'm not trying to compete for lotsa reviews... I'd just like feedback from most of my readers. If you like it, TELL ME! and if you hate it, TELL ME! (but not too harshly) It helps me improve, or continue to do what I'm doing right...**_

_**They don't have to be long reviews either. Just a "Great story, bro!" or an "Awesome chapter, sista!" or even an "I hope you stop writing like such an uneducated ditz!" would suffice. I've written this massive chapter, and author's note... You could at least spare a couple seconds to review-me, eh?  
**_


	2. How to Chop Down Trees Without an Ax

Laments of a Soon-To-Be "Rescued" Sailor: (Gilligan Goes Emo)

Chapter 2: How to Chop Down Trees Without an Ax

**_xxxxxx_**

Gilligan followed Skipper back to camp. He really didn't want to hear what the others had to say. They would all keep repeating how excited they were to be rescued, which would mean Gilligan would really have to try to help even though he didn't want to. He would feel horrible if he let his desires cheat everyone else out of what they wanted most. He already knew he'd be letting Skipper down if he messed this up; hearing everyone else's excited words would just reinforce his knowledge that his messing up would cost them their dreams too.

Even though he already decided he'd try his best to help, knowing how many people depended on this plan to work was going to make him nervous... It may have seemed impossible that his ignorance would foil the entire plan, but he had ruined every rescue plot the castaways had ever thought up in the past. It was highly likely he'd ruin this one too; that would fulfill his own desires, but he really didn't want anyone else to be disappointed. After all, if being rescued would benefit six of the group while Gilligan was the only one who wouldn't benefit, it was only right that they should work toward the benefit of the whole group and not of just one person.

"I found him!" Skipper called out as he and Gilligan walked into the clearing where the castaways' huts were set up.

"Excellent," the Professor smiled a bit, but didn't look overly excited. The Professor hardly ever actually showed excitement. Gilligan figured it was probably because the man was too smart to be too happy. The Professor didn't let himself get his hopes up, which was wise, because if he was too excited about anything, he'd only end up being disappointed when Gilligan messed it all up, which he always did. The Professor was smart to have realistic expectations of the world.

"Oh, Gilligan!" Mary Ann ran up to him and hugged him.

Gilligan smiled. He liked Mary Ann. She was probably the nicest and least selfish person on the island, "Hi, Mary Ann," he said.

"Oh, Gilligan, did you hear!" She was very excited, just as Gilligan knew she would be. He liked to see her happy, but it made him so nervous. The happier his friends were now, the sadder they would be when he ruined everything.

"Yeah," Gilligan told her, assuming she was referring to the Professor's discovery of the extra sturdy nails.

"Isn't it exciting?" She beamed, "We'll finally get to go home again! I can't wait to see the farm... Maybe I can take you to see it, Gilligan! Oh, you'd love the farm. I know you like animals; we have lots of them on the farm in Kansas."

Gilligan nodded. He did like animals. He was always making friends with the ones he discovered on the island, "Sure," he agreed, "I'd love to see your farm," If he was going to have to go back to 'civilization,' at least he could visit Mary Ann's home. That might actually be fun.

"It'll be wonderful! We can have fresh eggs for breakfast, and in the summertime there's a great spot in the river where we can swim!" Mary Ann smiled, "we'll have to wake up early so we can work though. There's a lot of work involved in maintaining a farm."

"Gee, Mary Ann," Gilligan frowned, "we can do all of those things here... except the work. I mean, there's lots of work here, but it isn't something we _have_ to do. We've got fresh goose eggs, and we swim by the waterfall all the time."

"True," Mary Ann looked like she was thinking. Then she grinned and looked back at Gilligan, "but there isn't fresh milk here!"

"Coconut milk," Gilligan commented.

"But that's not the same," Mary Ann told him.

Gilligan shrugged. He smiled at Mary Ann to let her know he wasn't arguing with her. He really did mean what he had said. Being on the island with no work would be preferable to being on a farm and having to work really hard every day, but if going back to Kansas made her happy, he wouldn't argue.

"And I can make you apple pie! I know you love my coconut pie here, and I don't even have all the right ingredients to make it on the island... Just wait until I have real flour, and sugar! And the milk! Oh! You could have a fresh warm piece of apple pie and a glass of milk! You'll simply love it Gilligan! I just know it! And peach pie, and pear pie... Oh, the possibilities are limitless!" Mary Ann was extremely excited.

Gilligan smiled. That did sound appealing. Pie was great, but he knew it wasn't worth going back. He'd rather stay here. Food wasn't his top priority. His top priority was to live a simple life where people wouldn't depend on him, in a place where he could goof up and no one would mind. But at least Mary Ann's pie was some little thing he could look forward to. They were going to go back to 'civilization' whether he liked it or not. At least he'd have pie...

Apparently during Gilligan's conversation with Mary Ann, someone had assembled the entire group, because now everyone else was there, gathered around, whispering to each other. The Professor stood in front of everyone else, on a flat rock as though he thought it was a stage of sorts.

"Alright, listen up everyone," he announced as though he was a teacher(which he was.) "You all should know by now that I've discovered a substance that can be molded into a strong nail! There is plenty of it here on the island, enough for hundreds of nails. All I've got to do is heat it over the fire, mold it into the proper shape, and then let it cool. It's a somewhat lengthy process, but in time, with the abundance of resources on this island, we'll be able to craft a boat that will get us back to civilization!"

"That's wonderful!" Ginger smiled, "that's the one thing we needed! Now we can patch up the Minnow... oh..." she stopped herself and looked in Gilligan's direction. Then she looked back toward the Professor, "but, Professor... What will we use to build the ship? We can't repair the Minnow... It's completely destroyed. Most of it even washed away into the ocean ages ago, remember?"

"Yes," the Professor said, throwing a quick glance in Gilligan's direction, "I do remember that. That's why the men are going to cut down trees by hand and fashion them into boards. It will be hard work, but we'll manage."

"Egad!" Mr. Howell exclaimed, "you don't actually expect a man of my class to cut down entire trees! I mean, really! How could I possibly?"

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Howell consoled him, "I'm sure he doesn't mean you. He means himself and Skipper, of course."

"Mr. Howell," the Professor started, sounding completely serious, "if we all work together this will go twice as fast. Mary Ann, Ginger, and Mrs. Howell can do the more delicate work, building sails and ropes, gathering and packing provisions... The men have a role to fulfill. And that includes you, Mr. Howell. And Gilligan too."

Gilligan frowned. He would much rather help the women. He didn't know why he was always thrown in with the men to do the hard work. Even Mr. Howell was usually with the women. Gilligan wasn't strong. And he wasn't good at anything. It was a wonder they ever asked for his help with anything at all, especially important and/or difficult tasks. His help usually was more of a hindrance than anything.

As usual, Gilligan kept quiet and didn't complain.

But Mr. Howell was not one to keep silence when he disagreed with something, especially when he was being asked to work, "I'm not a lumberjack!" the protested, "Do I look like I can handle such work? How would you feel if this plot became the death of me?"

Skipper looked to the Professor, "he really is kind of old to be doing such rough work," the Skipper muttered quietly, "Do you really think he can handle it? What if his heart gives out or something? You know we'd all feel awful."

"Old Skip is correct, Professor," Mr. Howell nodded in agreement. He was probably not meant to hear Skipper's words, but Skipper never could speak quietly, even when he wanted to, "My poor old first class heart may not be able to take it."

Now Mary Ann looked worried. Sometimes she was too nice, "You three can handle the trees by yourself can't you?" she pleaded, "I don't want Mr. Howell's health to be in danger. If something happened to him, we would all feel guilty forever!"

"Not to mention the rescue would be completely bittersweet," Mrs. Howell added.

"Fine, fine," The Professor agreed, "Gilligan, Skipper, and I can handle it, but it will likely take days longer this way."

"Fine by me," Mr. Howell smirked.

Gilligan felt his shoulders slump. This meant even more work for him. The task already seemed impossible. Now it was going to be even more impossible.

"Alright then," The Professor said, "you ladies (and Mr. Howell) can start working on making sails and using island plants to make rope. Skipper, Gilligan, follow me..."

... ... ...

Gilligan could feel his feet dragging as he followed Skipper, who followed the Professor, to a beach where there were an abundance of tall palm trees.

"Professor?" Gilligan asked, "how are we supposed to cut down trees without an axe?"

"That's what we need to figure out," the Professor responded, "My first thought was that we could fashion an ax out of some shells. We can tie certain kinds of shells, the very sharp and hard ones that is, to some short, thick branches. Then they could be used as axes."

"Will that work, Professor?" Skipper asked, "are shells strong enough to cut down trees without shattering? I don't know if either of you have ever attempted to cut down a tree, but you've got to swing an ax with a lot of force, and I don't think a shell is going to hold up."

"What if we try to make a saw?" Gilligan suggested, "A sea shell saw... Say that five times fast," he grinned.

"Gilligan!" Skipper grumbled, "will you stop joking around?"

"No, Skipper, he's right," the Professor agreed, "a saw would be much better. it would still take very sturdy shells, but we wouldn't be slamming them into the trees, so they would be less likely to break. We just need to find some serrated shells."

"Yeah, or some shells with little pointy parts that look like alligator teeth," Gilligan added.

Skipper rolled his eyes as though Gilligan had just said something stupid while the Professor simply nodded, "yes, Gilligan, shells with parts that look like teeth, so they can be rubbed against the trees and cause the wood to be filed away, thus cutting the tree down. It will be tedious work, but it will all be worth it in the end."

Gilligan sighed and looked at the Skipper. He wasn't going to start looking for shells until everyone else did too. He liked looking for shells, but knowing that he'd have to cut down trees with them when he was done sort of ruined the fun of it.

"We'll need to find a lot of shells," the Professor told them, "they'll likely break, so we'll need many more than just one each."

"Well, Little Buddy," Skipper said, "let's you and I go this way, and Professor you can go that way," he pointed one direction down the beach, and then the other, "when we have found some good shells, we'll meet back here then?"

The Professor nodded, "let's give it about an hour. Perhaps we can circle the entire island and meet again whenever our paths cross. That way we'll find all the shells the island has to offer."

"And if we don't find them today," Gilligan suggested, "the tide will bring in more tomorrow."

"Right," the Professor agreed, "but hopefully we can find enough today."

Gilligan and Skipper started walking one way and the Professor went the other.

"What about that one?" Skipper asked, pointing to a shell half buried in the sand.

Gilligan looked down at it, "yep," he said, "it looks pretty pointy... It'll probably be good," he looked back at the Skipper who looked annoyed. He supposed this meant the Skipper was expecting Gilligan to pick it up. The Skipper could be so lazy sometimes... Gilligan picked it up and turned it over in his hands, "Yeah... it's got a lot of little points on it. Just like alligator teeth. It'll make a good sea shell saw."

"We should have brought a basket," Skipper commented.

"We can use my hat," Gilligan offered, taking his hat off and placing the shell they found inside, "it won't carry tons of them, but it'll be better than nothing, right?"

"Good thinking, Little Buddy," Skipper smiled.

Gilligan smiled as well. He loved it when his friend was proud of something he did, even if it was something as small as coming up with a plan to carry sea shells. Skipper's approval meant the world to him.

They continued walking, stopping now and then when they found a shell that seemed worthy of being made into a sea shell saw. Before long, Gilligan's hat was full. The next few shells they found were stuffed into Gilligan's pockets, but they were full pretty quick too.

"Skipper," Gilligan suggested, "I think maybe we should start filling up your hat too."

"Are you kidding?" Skipper shouted, "If we do that, I'll be fighting to keep sand out of my hair for weeks! I don't want a bunch of dirty sandy shells in my hat..."

"But how are we going to carry any more shells any other way?" Gilligan asked, "the Professor will be mad if we come back with only half as many shells as we could have, don't you think? Besides, we could always wash your hat later. It could probably use a good bath."

Skipper smacked Gilligan with his hat, "my hat is perfectly clean!" he claimed.

Gilligan frowned and looked up at his friend. Sometimes all the convincing Skipper needed was to just think for a moment to himself without Gilligan saying anything at all.

"Fine," Skipper finally agreed, picking up a shell and tossing it into his own overturned hat, "but you're going to have to wash the sand out of it when we get back to camp."

Gilligan nodded, "Oooh!" his attention was taken away from Skipper when he saw a big, very sturdy-looking, and very jagged shell, "I think that one's perfect!"

Skipper spotted it as well, "good work, Gilligan."

Gilligan scooped it up and placed it in Skipper's hat.

"Get that one over there," the Skipper suggested, pointing toward a nearby shell.

Gilligan picked up the shell Skipper had spotted and put it in the captain's hat. They continued with this pattern until they had made it half way around the island and they finally crossed paths with the Professor who had walked the other half of the beach.

Even though Gilligan was dreading the work the shells were to be used for, he really thoroughly enjoyed his sea shell hunt with the Skipper. Skipper had seemed so proud of him when he found some really good shells, and Gilligan was in turn proud of himself for finally doing something right. Sure, Skipper had gotten frustrated with Gilligan a few times, but that was normal. Overall, Gilligan felt he had been successful today. He had done a good job with something. In fact, he couldn't think of even one thing he actually messed up today, and that was miraculous.

As the Professor, Skipper, and Gilligan compiled their shells into a somewhat massive pile, Gilligan's spirits immediately sunk. No matter how good of a job Gilligan had done in collecting shells, and no matter how proud of him Skipper was, they were still going to have to cut down entire trees with these sea shells.

Gilligan knew the Professor was a smart guy, but some of his plans astounded him. Cutting down trees with sea shells? They'd be lucky to get one tree down within twelve hours. This was the kind of tedious work prison inmates carried out over a span of months, filing away bars with a nail file. And now here they all were, planning on filing through tree trunks with little tiny shells. Gilligan couldn't believe how idiotic the plan sounded. Even though he had been the one to come up with it, the Professor had approved it. He liked to think the Professor knew what he was talking about, but he knew deep down that cutting down palm trees with sea shells was not going to be easy. The next few weeks were going to be horrible...

**_xxxxxx_**

**_Thank you for reading. I'll be working on the next chapter when I feel like it. ^_^  
_**


	3. Sea Shell Saw Sawing

Laments of a Soon-To-Be "Rescued" Sailor: (Gilligan Goes Emo)

Chapter 3: Sea Shell Saw Sawing

**_xxxxxx_**

The Professor was the first to try out their new sea shell saws. He vigorously rubbed the shell back and forth at the base of a palm tree's trunk while Skipper and Gilligan observed. All three of them were frowning as a tiny pile of saw dust fell at the base of the tree. This really was going to take hours.

"So just rub it like I'm doing," the Professor instructed, "and when your shell breaks or becomes too dull to file away any more of the tree, just get a new shell and keep going. We can probably get several planks out of each tree. The hardest part will come after the trees are already cut down, when we'll have to figure out how to fashion them into boards."

"How are we going to do that?" Gilligan asked, hearing his own voice sound very skeptical. He couldn't imagine any possible way that they would be able to cut the trees into planks. Even if they had a chain-saw, it would still be really difficult.

"Let's just worry about one thing at a time, Gilligan," the professor instructed.

Gilligan sighed. He didn't like that idea, "so we might cut down all these trees and then figure out that it's impossible to cut them into boards, so we'll have cut down all the trees for nothing? I'd rather give up now than wait until we've done a bunch of work and then give up..."

"We'll figure something out, Little Buddy," Skipper assured him.

Gilligan wasn't convinced, but no one ever listened to his logic, so he didn't argue.

"Alright," the Professor started again, "while you two start on the trees, I'm going to make some more nails." He placed Skipper's hat-full of shells next to one tree, and Gilligan's next to another - the one he had already started sawing, "If you get one down before I get back, just start on another, one of these very tall ones," he gestured to a cluster of super-tall trees, "Gilligan," he looked at the first mate, "when you've got it almost cut down, you're going to want to make sure you're not in a place where it will crush you when it falls; remember that. I don't want anyone getting hurt."

"I know," Gilligan told him. They all thought he was so stupid. He did, however, wonder how he was going to tell which side of the tree to be on when it started falling. Did they always fall the same direction? Maybe they always fell south, since south was sort of the same thing as down. But then, did everyone in South America and Australia have to hold onto the grass to prevent from falling off the world? He would ask the Professor these things, but he knew he'd look like a fool, so he kept quiet. He just hoped he'd happen to be on the correct side of the tree when it fell... if it ever did fall, that is.

The Professor walked away to go start making nails. Gilligan wished he could help him do that instead. It seemed like it would be a lot easier than sawing down trees.

"Well, come on, Gilligan," he heard Skipper's annoyed voice behind him, "get to work. You don't expect me to do this all myself, do you?"

Gilligan turned to look at Skipper. He wasn't doing anything either. He was probably waiting for Gilligan to start, because he wanted to be sure that he wasn't getting cheated over. If Skipper was working, Gilligan had better be working as well.

So Gilligan picked up the shell the Professor had been using and started rubbing it against the tree trunk as fast as he could.

He had made approximately zero progress when the shell cracked in half. Gilligan sighed, tossed the broken shell aside, and picked up another one. As before, he started vigorously rubbing it in the same place on the trunk. He glanced over his shoulder at the Skipper. He was rubbing his shell faster than Gilligan was, and he was already pretty sweaty.

Gilligan brought his attention back to his own tree. He rubbed the shell back... and forth... and back... and forth again. Then he did it some more. It was very repetitive, very tiring, and not at all rewarding. After half an hour, he had barely cut into a centimeter of the tree. He looked over at the captain to see how far he was coming along with his tree. Skipper had made more Progress than Gilligan had, of course. But even Skipper's tree was nowhere near cut down.

This work was nearly unbearable, so Gilligan decided he could day-dream while he cut down the tree. This way he would be removed from reality, but would still be cutting the tree down at the same time. As he rubbed the shell back and forth, he thought about where he would live if he could have any sort of life he wanted.

His day dream wasn't too far from his actual life (not currently, of course, but recently.) In his day dream, he lived on a beautiful tropical island, a lot like the one he actually lived on. There were chimpanzees who also lived there, in huts just like Gilligan's. They were his neighbors. One of the chimps was called Edgar. Edgar was his best friend on the island, and he made scrumptious banana candy out of bananas, sugar cane, and tree sap. In Gilligan's dream hut, he had a wonderful oversized hammock, and a stove, so he could cook things more easily. Gilligan was not naturally a good cook, but in his dream he was.

The dream-island had a beautiful waterfall in the middle of it, with very clear water in a sort of lake which the waterfall fell into and beautiful rainbow fish swimming around at the bottom. Edgar and Gilligan had a canoe and they would frequently go out into the lake and go fishing, but they always threw the fish back, because Edgar was a vegetarian, and Gilligan didn't want to kill the fish, because he'd feel bad.

Edgar and Gilligan wore grass skirts and painted their faces with colorful paint they made out of berries. They never tried to get 'rescued' from the island, because the island was their home, and they loved it there.

"Gilligan!" Skipper's angry voice rang out, bringing him back to reality.

Gilligan opened his eyes. He forehead was leaning against the tree trunk and his shell saw was laying on the ground at the base of the tree. It seemed he had accidentally actually fallen asleep, "Sorry Skipper... I guess I fell asleep..."

"How about we take a break after we get just one tree down each?" the Skipper suggested.

That would have sounded nice, but when Gilligan looked at the progress he had made, it seemed this break the Skipper spoke of may never actually come, "how about we take a break now?" Gilligan suggested.

"I know you're tired, Little Buddy," Skipper said, "but if we take breaks that frequently, we'll never get anything done."

"But I'll never get a break if I have to cut down this whole tree first," Gilligan complained. This was really starting to get on his nerves. Skipper had made much more progress than Gilligan had. At this rate, Skipper would get a break in a few hours, and Gilligan never would.

"Maybe if you work really hard I'll let you have a break sooner," Skipper suggested.

Gilligan sighed and turned back toward his tree. It wasn't fair that Skipper got to be the one in charge of breaks. Gilligan was a grown up. Maybe he hadn't been a grown up as long as Skipper had been, but he was still a grown up nontheless. He should be able to regulate his own breaks. Skipper was his boss on The Minnow, but he wasn't his boss on the island, was he? Maybe Skipper was automatically his boss everywhere... Gilligan wasn't sure how it worked. They had been shipwrecked while they were working, so would Skipper always be in charge? They never had finished the job they set out to do, which was the tour... Was the tour still going on? Were they still on the job?

He rubbed the shell as fast as he could. This shell cracked as well. He threw it off to the side, a little more forcefully than last time, and picked up a third shell. He rubbed this one back and forth as fast as he could too, and broke it within minutes. Maybe he was rubbing them too hard... He picked up another and rubbed it just as hard as the last one. If he ran out of shells, they'd have to take a break, or at least go hunt for more shells. And Gilligan would much rather look for shells than saw down trees with them.

As fast as he could manage, he rubbed the shell along the groove he had been sawing into the tree trunk. It wasn't long before this shell cracked as well, but it didn't crack as uneventfully as the previous ones had. This one cracked in a manner that caused it to snap back and cut into Gilligan's hand.

Gilligan gasped and dropped the shell's pieces onto the sand, except one piece, which was lodged in his palm. He could see and feel his hand trembling as he stared down at it. The shell piece didn't seem to have gone in too far, but it was still in far enough that Gilligan felt a little concerned about himself. This wouldn't make him bleed to death, would it? He wasn't bleeding too much, so he decided to just pull the broken bit of shell out of his hand. Gilligan winced as he pulled the shell out of his hand. As he did so, it was almost like he was removing a cork; the blood started to flow out much more freely.

He watched as his own blood dripped out of the cut on his palm, over a bit of his hand, drizzled onto the shell which was laying on the ground and then flowed off into the sand. The sand soaked it up just like a snow cone would soak up a delicious strawberry flavored syrup. He felt tears singing his eyes. The cut hurt, but it wasn't too bad. He looked at it. It didn't seem too deep. It was bleeding sort of a lot, but not so much that it seemed extremely serious.

He looked over his shoulder at Skipper. Apparently his gasping and wincing hadn't been too loud, because it hadn't caught Skipper's attention. The captain was still vigorously sawing away at his tree and paid no attention in the general direction of his little buddy.

Gilligan looked back down at his hand. He turned his hand so that his fingers were pointing downward and he watched as the blood flowed from the cut in his hand, down his fingers, and then dripped down onto the sand. Maybe he deserved to have his hand cut... After all, he was a slacker, even though he didn't mean to be. Skipper was working much harder than Gilligan was. The others were probably working hard at what they were doing too. Gilligan had probably been the least productive of them all. They were all so excited to get off this island, and Gilligan was only slowing them down, and not even on purpose! (even though he sort of wished he could purposely slow them down and not feel guilty about it...)

He could feel that his whole hand was sticky now. It was covered in his own blood. He wasn't sure if he had ever seen this much of his blood all at one time before. But of course, he had never been seriously injured in a way that would cause a lot of bleeding, so even though it was a lot of blood to him, it still probably wasn't anything he should have been too worried about... He hoped not anyway.

After a few moments, the bleeding seemed to be slowing down, which Gilligan was sort of glad to see, because he was beginning to wonder just how much blood his hand could possibly lose before it would be completely drained.

"Are you slacking off again?" Skipper growled from over by his tree, "Didn't I just tell you that you could have a break as long as you worked hard? Why would you even need a break if you've just been sitting there doing nothing, Gilligan?"

Gilligan turned around, "I'm sorry," he told his captain, "I - um... I accidentally broke a shell..."

"Well, get another one!" Skipper shouted, "that's why we collected so many. The Professor guessed that we'd probably break some. I've broken two already."

"I've broken four," Gilligan said, "but that last one broke wrong..."

"Broke wrong?" Skipper sounded confused and agitated. He tiredly threw down his sea shell saw and stood up to stretch his legs. At the same time, he further questioned what Gilligan was talking about, "what do you mean it broke wrong?"

"It snapped back and got my hand," Gilligan said, holding his hand up so Skipper could see.

"Little Buddy!" Skipper rushed over to him, "why didn't you say something?"

"I just did," Gilligan muttered, looking up at Skipper who had grabbed onto his injured hand and was looking it over.

"Let's get you back to camp!" Skipper exclaimed, keeping ahold of Gilligan's wrist to keep his hand flat and virtually still as they started back toward camp, "It doesn't look too bad, but we should have the Professor take a look at it. And it definitely needs to be bandaged." Skipper seemed like he thought this wasn't too big of a deal at first, but they had barely started back to camp when he added, "I knew cutting down trees with shells was a bad idea! I should have known this would happen!"

When they walked into camp, they were greeted by Ginger and Mary Ann, who were busy sewing up some sheets into sails. This was the work Gilligan should have been put in charge of. But then, he probably would have sewn his own hand onto the sail...

"Hello," Mary Ann greeted them, "time for a break?" she asked, "I could get you two something to drink."

"No thank you," Skipper responded, "Gilligan cut his hand on a broken shell... is the Professor here?"

Ginger and Mary Ann both gasped as their eyes instantly focused on Gilligan's hand.

"Oh, Gilligan! Are you alright?" Mary Ann looked so worried, "It doesn't hurt too bad, does it? Oh, you poor thing!"

"It's okay, Mary Ann, really," he insisted, "it barely hurts. It just stings a little."

Ginger finally took her eyes off Gilligan's injury and looked back up at the Skipper, "Well, the Professor isn't here, Skipper," she told him, "he's off collecting that stuff... whatever that material he found to make nails with... and we really don't know where on the island he is..."

"We should have asked him where he was going to be," Skipper sighed and looked down at Gilligan's hand, "Well, I guess I could just tie some cloth around it for now until the Professor can have a look at it later."

"Well, why wait?" Ginger suggested, "I played a nurse in a film once. I could take care of him."

Gilligan frowned, "but this isn't a film, Ginger," he pleaded, "the Professor would probably know more about it..."

"Oh, nonsense," Ginger insisted, "acting teaches a lot about reality. Once you've pretended to be a nurse on film, you are pretty much qualified to be one in real life too. Besides, the Professor isn't a nurse. He isn't a doctor. He's just a professor... and he hasn't even pretended to be a doctor or a nurse. You're much better off with me. Trust me."

Gilligan looked up at Skipper. He must have looked nervous.

"All it needs is a bandage Gilligan," Skipper reassured him, "you don't have to be a nurse to wrap a bandage around a cut."

"You'll be okay, Gilligan," Mary Ann added, smiling at him.

Reluctantly, Gilligan allowed Ginger to wash the blood, sand, and sawdust off his hand. She then cut off a small strip of the sheet they had been using to make the sail and tied it around his hand. She was very gentle, and Gilligan felt confident that he indeed was not going to die.

"Why don't you stay here with the girls, Gilligan?" Skipper asked, "I'm going to go find the Professor. We need to figure out a new way to cut down trees. I'm surprised he even allowed for us to do it that way in the first place..."

Gilligan nodded in agreement. He had been surprised the Professor had agreed to the sea shell saws as well. At least now the Skipper saw it the same way. The Professor would be more likely to listen to Skipper than to Gilligan. If Skipper said the sea shell saws were a bad idea, the Professor would probably agree. If Gilligan had said it, however, they would all just think he was being silly or lazy or something...

Gilligan sat down next to Mary Ann as he watched Skipper walk off into the woods.

"How were you cutting down trees, Gilligan?" Ginger asked.

"Hm?" Gilligan looked up, unsure of what exactly Ginger was asking, "I didn't cut down any trees. I tried to get one... but it's a lot harder than it looks. Really. It looks impossible, but when you actually try to do it, it's doubly impossible."

"I mean, Skipper said he was going to talk to the Professor about a different way to cut down trees. How were you doing it before?" she rephrased.

"Sea shells," Gilligan said.

Ginger narrowed her eyes, "What?"

"Sea shell saws," Gilligan told her, "we found sea shells with sharp points and rubbed them against the trees to cut them down. You might think it wouldn't work, but it sort of was. Not really for me... but Skipper was making a lot of progress. You might say he's really good at sea shell saw sawing." Gilligan laughed, "that's an even better tongue twister than before: _Skipper set off to do some sea shell saw sawing._" He giggled, "Oh, that's a good one. Try it!"

"Sea shell saws?" Ginger frowned, "that's a terrible idea."

"I know," Gilligan agreed, also frowning, "the worst part is... it was my idea... I didn't think they'd actually agree to it. I knew it was a bad idea from the start."

They were silent for a moment. Mary Ann broke the silence, "How did it go, Gilligan? _'Skipper did some sea shell sawing?'_"

"_Skipper set off to do some sea sell saw sawing..."_ Gilligan giggled, "I mean _'sea SHELL saw sawing...'_ he he he."

Mary Ann grinned, "Skipper set off to do some she sell saw... sea shell shaw... Oh, Gilligan. This _is_ tricky."

"Sea shell saw sawing," Gilligan repeated.

"Sea. Shell. Saw. Sawing." Mary Ann repeated slowly. She giggled.

"Were are Mr. and Mrs. Howell?" Gilligan asked.

Mary Ann shrugged.

Ginger scoffed, "a lazy lot, those two," she pouted, "they both made excuse after excuse. We finally just told them to leave. They were complaining so much that they were making the whole process slower than it would have been if they weren't even helping at all. Oh, you should have seen them, Gilligan. Mr. Howell said his arthritis was too much to allow him to sew. Mrs. Howell said she'd need her glasses in order to see what she was sewing, but insisted that she couldn't find them... Then Mr. Howell wouldn't collect plants to weave into rope because he said it hurt his back to bend down to harvest them. They went on and on and on and on; excuse after excuse."

"Oh," Gilligan said simply.

"Gilligan," Mary Ann put her hand on top of Gilligan's uninjured one and looked at him sympathetically, "you look so tired. Maybe you should go inside and take a nap. I'm sure Skipper and the Professor won't mind. You've had a rough day."

"It's just a little cut," Gilligan assured her. He really was tired though, "I'll be fine," he said, and then couldn't help but yawn.

Mary Ann shook her head and stood up, pulling Gilligan up with her. She led him into the hut and pushed him gently toward his hammock, "you get some rest Gilligan. Skipper and the Professor will probably expect you to work tomorrow. Maybe not with cutting down trees anymore... but you'll have to help out somehow. They really work you too hard sometimes. You should sleep now while you've got the chance."

Gilligan easily agreed to this.

Mary Ann exited the hut, leaving Gilligan all alone. He looked down at his hand. It still stung a little, but at least he wasn't being forced to try to saw down a tree with a sea shell anymore. Because he had been stupid and careless and had hurt himself, he was allowed to take a break and to sleep. It got him out of working, and everyone was being nice to him. Cutting his hand had sort of been a good thing...

_**xxxxxx**_

_**"Skipper set off to do some sea shell saw sawing.  
Silly Skipper sawed and sawed some sappy spruces.  
Sea shell sawing a silly strange spruce is simply so stupid.  
Skipper should see how silly a sea shell saw is,  
So why use a sea shell to do a saw's work?  
Sawing and sawing still in spring and summer.  
Sea shell saw sawing is stupider than sand storm surfing."**_

**He he he he he he he he he! Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! I wrote you a tongue twister!**

**Here's my review to myself:**

**_"You'll grow up and re-read this and then you'll see all the little mistakes you made. You'll notice all sorts of places that are worded stupidly and all sorts of spelling and grammar errors. Gilligan's Island fans don't want to read stuff that's sad or emo-related, goofball! It's Gilligan's Island! Not some teenager show! Whatchoo thinking? Bits of humour show up here and there, but no one wants to sift through all this other bullshit to find it! Maybe when you're thirty years old you'll be a good writer. Until then, you should stick to Metalocalypse stories. No one expects them to be good, and the readers are all so happy to find one that isn't slash that they'll happily read and praise anything you write."_  
**


	4. Stone Tools, Like the Cavemen Used

Laments of a Soon-To-Be "Rescued" Sailor: (Gilligan Goes Emo)

Chapter 4: Stone Tools, Like the Cavemen Used

**_xxxxxx_**

Gilligan woke up to the feeling of something tugging on his hand. Opening his eyes, but still seeing nothing in the darkness of the hut, he pulled his hand back, "Not now, Edgar," he murmured, rolling over in his hammock, "It's still dark out; I'm trying to sleep. We can go fishing for rainbow fish in a couple hours."

"Gilligan," the Professor's voice became audible, "It's me. I just need to have a look at your hand. Skipper told me you cut it on a sea shell. I just want to make sure it's not going to get infected, then you can go back to sleep for a while."

Gilligan blinked a couple times. He often felt very confused when he was woken up too early. He must have been dreaming of his nonexistent chimp friend, Edgar, because he couldn't get the little guy out of his mind. But now, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see the Professor, not Edgar, stood next to his hammock. Gilligan blinked again, trying to recall what the Professor had just said, "What?" he finally asked.

"Could I have a look at your hand?" the Professor repeated, "to make sure it doesn't get infected."

"Ginger took care of it," Gilligan told him as he sat up in the hammock and offered his hand to the Professor, "she played a nurse in a film once. I didn't know this, but if you play a nurse in a film, you are qualified to be a nurse in real life too. No wonder actors are so rich... They can do so many different jobs. I'm barely even qualified for one job."

The Professor shook his head, "Ginger isn't qualified to be a nurse, Gilligan. She may think she is, but you've got to go to school and train for something like that. She doesn't always see the difference between the acting world and the real world." The Professor unwrapped the bandage from Gilligan's hand. He lit a candle and held it close so he could see better, "it doesn't look infected, but you'll definitely want to keep it clean. If dirt or sand gets into the cut, it could easily become infected, but you're lucky the wound isn't very deep. Using shells to saw down trees was a foolish plan. I of all people should have seen that, and for this I apologize."

Gilligan shrugged, "It's no big deal," he told the Professor, "It was my idea anyway, remember?" Then he frowned. Maybe he shouldn't have reminded the Professor that it had been his idea in the first place. Now this was just another thing to add to the list of Gilligan's screw-ups. Gilligan thought he could literally make a list of his own screw ups, and that list would probably be pages and pages long, with hundreds of entries.

"But I approved it, Gilligan," the Professor continued as he wrapped a new strip of relatively clean sheet around Gilligan's hand, "I took your idea and agreed that it would work. I'm somewhat in charge of this plan, and I'm the one who agreed that sea shells would make good saws. I'm a Professor for heaven's sake! I should have seen that attempting to saw down trees with sea shells would be painstaking and ineffective. I suppose my judgment was clouded due to my excitement over the situation. I was so eager to build the boat that I didn't really think the plan through thoroughly."

"Oh," Gilligan wasn't sure how to respond. The Professor was taking full blame on this one, "Well... everyone makes mistakes. At least yours only come once in a while instead of hundreds every day."

The Professor laughed, "You don't make hundreds of mistakes every day, Gilligan," he assured him, knowing that Gilligan had been attempting to reference himself in his last comment, "You do slip up a lot, but not hundreds of times each day... and they aren't usually major slip ups."

"Yes they are," Gilligan frowned, "I've ruined every rescue plot you've ever come up with."

"Well, not on purpose," the Professor smiled kindly, "and none of that matters now. We've got a new plan, so the past is irrelevant. Besides, if all else fails, we'll just stay on the island, right? It isn't so bad here."

"I know!" Gilligan exclaimed, "It's not bad here at all! The weather's nice, there's plenty of food, no jobs, and it's just us seven. I like living here with only you guys. It's nice."

"Well, sure," the Professor agreed, "It is enjoyable most of the time, but I'd definitely prefer to be back home, where I'd have my lab equipment, real glass flasks and test tubes, labeled chemicals and specimens... I appreciate order, and that's hard to achieve out here."

Gilligan frowned. Everyone had their own preferences in life. The Professor preferred to live in a place where everything was clean and orderly. That didn't happen here. And Mary Ann wanted to live in a place where she could take care of farm animals and cook with flour and sugar in a real oven. None of the others would ever be as happy on the island as Gilligan was. Gilligan's happily ever after would be to stay here forever, but for everyone else, that would be a sad ending to their life stories. They didn't see this place as home like Gilligan did. They were all homesick.

"So what are we going to do now?" Gilligan asked.

"I suppose we can try to make tools out of stones. I can't believe it took me this long to think of it," the Professor told him, "stone tools are sturdy. We'll be able to chop down trees with stone axes, and it will go by much faster than sawing them down with shells." He shook his head as though he was ashamed at his own stupidity, "Making the tools will take a while though. We've got to find stones that are either already the correct shape or can be chiseled into the correct shape. Then we'll have to find a way to attach them onto a handle of some sort."

Gilligan nodded, "Stone tools, hm? Like the cavemen used! That sounds like a much better idea," he yawned in mid-sentence, "than rubbing the trees with shells. Sea shell saws make a good tongue twister, but they don't make a good substitute for a real saw, or an ax."

The Professor smiled, "that's very true, Gilligan."

"So... when are we going to start with that?" Gilligan asked, hoping the Professor would give him a few days, or maybe a week or two, or a year...

"In the morning," the Professor responded, "it's not even past midnight yet. I'd estimate it's about nine o'clock now. So for now, you can go back to sleep. Skipper or I will wake you up in the morning and you can help search for stones. It shouldn't be very hard work."

Gilligan sighed, "okay," he agreed.

The Professor patted him on the shoulder, "I'll see you in the morning then."

"Good night, Professor," Gilligan called to him as he was leaving.

"Good night, Gilligan," he called back.

Gilligan could have stayed up and thought about how much he didn't want to leave the island. He could have worried all night about how he needed to help everyone else get back home even though he didn't want to go back. He could have worried about how difficult it might be to cut down trees even with an ax. Or he could have concerned himself with how they were going to fashion the trees into boards, because that still seemed impossible to him. But instead of worrying, he decided to fall asleep, to get back to his life with Edgar. Within minutes of the Professor's exit, he had succeeded in this task.

... ... ...

"Gilligan... Little Buddy..." Skipper's cheerful voice rang out in Gilligan's ears as his captain shook him gently by the shoulder, "Time to get up!"

It seemed he had only just fallen asleep, and now he had to wake up again. Time flew when he was asleep, which was a shame, because sleeping was so enjoyable. Gilligan opened his eyes and looked up at the Skipper. The captain wasn't usually this happy. And they were getting up to go work; why should be be so happy all of a sudden?

"Come on Gilligan!" Skipper chimed, "we've got a lot to do today."

Gilligan practically fell out of bed. Well, he actually did fall out of bed, but Skipper caught him and steadied him on his own two feet before he hit the ground.

"Don't worry, Little Buddy," Skipper told him, "We'll go easy on you. We won't make you do anything too hard."

Gilligan forced a bit of a smile.

"We're going out by the cliffs to find stones!" Skipper seemed entirely too happy about this, "The Professor says we'll be looking for ones that are sort of sharp, but not too clumpy. Ones that are sort of flat and are sloped, like an ax blade. He's already out there looking for them with Mary Ann and Ginger. He said he'd show us when he found a good one so we'll know what we're looking for."

Gilligan yawned and stretched his arms up in the air above his head, "Okie dokie," he agreed.

Skipper grinned widely, probably because Gilligan hadn't spoken at all since he had woken him up and he was just now finally assured that Gilligan indeed still had vocal chords.

"Well, come on then," Skipper beamed, grabbing Gilligan's arm and leading him outside.

Gilligan walked next to Skipper as they made their way toward the cliffs.

"How's your hand feeling, Little Buddy?" Skipper asked as they walked.

Gilligan looked down at it. He had actually forgotten about it entirely until just now, "It feels okay, I guess. The Professor looked at it last night and said it didn't look too bad, and it doesn't really hurt anymore. I think it's really only just a little scratch. It'll probably heal in no time."

"Probably," Skipper agreed, "it sure was bleeding a lot for a moment though. I bet you were pretty scared."

Gilligan shrugged, "not really," he lied. He was a little bit scared after he had pulled the piece of shell out of his hand and the blood was flowing out pretty rapidly. But overall, it hadn't really been that scary, so it wasn't a complete lie.

Skipper nodded, "whatever you say."

Gilligan frowned. Skipper didn't believe him, "I wasn't scared," he insisted, "it's just a little cut. I've broken whole bones before. Why would I be scared of a little sea shell saw cut? It's not even a real saw... How much damage could a little sea shell possibly do?"

"Okay," Skipper raised his hands in defense, "if you say you weren't scared, then you weren't scared."

Gilligan nodded, "I was a little scared though," he admitted. He didn't want Skipper to think he was some sort of crazy guy who wasn't afraid of getting hurt. Then Skipper would probably make him do really hard work all the time. He probably went easy on Gilligan most of the time because he knew his little buddy wasn't a big macho man. If Gilligan started acting like he could take on the world, Skipper might start expecting him to do just that.

Skipper sighed and shook his head. He looked down at Gilligan and patted him on the back. He looked like he was going to say something; he opened his mouth, but then closed it again, keeping whatever thoughts he had to himself.

Gilligan looked back up at him and shrugged. He knew Skipper was probably thinking he was an idiot, but for some reason his captain liked him anyway, even though Gilligan was a liar who couldn't make up his mind.

"Over here, you two!" The Professor's voice rang out.

Gilligan looked over to see the Professor waving to them. Mary Ann and Ginger were nearby as well. Mary Ann was bent over searching for stones, while Ginger sat on a large rock and fanned herself with a leaf.

"I've found one that may work," the Professor started, going over to where Ginger was sitting and plucking a stone up off the larger rock she was sitting on.

"Is Ginger guarding it?" Gilligan giggled.

The Professor smiled slightly, but ignored his question. Instead, he held out the stone to the Skipper and explained what they needed to be looking for, "See how it's almost sharp on the edge, but then it slopes up and is thicker on the other edge? This one isn't perfect, but we're going to be wanting to look for something close to it, preferably one that is sort of arched on the sharp end, so we can chisel a bit out of it and tie it onto a handle in a way that the tie won't be cut while we are chopping with it."

Gilligan frowned. What was the Professor talking about? He looked down at the stone and then up at Skipper.

"Alright," Skipper said, "let's get to it, Gilligan."

Gilligan started rummaging through the stones that littered the ground. He was only partially certain that he even knew what he was looking for. He didn't understand what the Professor had meant about an arched end and ties that wouldn't be cut... How could you tie an ax together and not cut the tie when you chopped with it? If it could chop through a tree, it would surely chop through little ropes, especially little island ropes made out of grass or whatever else they planned on using.

Finding an appropriate stone was much more difficult than finding pointy shells had been.

Gilligan found a really nice flat stone. He could skip it across the lagoon. Skipping rocks was something that fascinated him. It was like the stone was running across the water, which was amazing, because stones were supposed to sink. Gilligan wished he could run across water... He wondered if he could if he ran fast enough. But then, he had run really fast into water before to escape from something or another, and he never stayed on top of the surface. He wondered how rocks could run across water when he couldn't...

He pocketed the nice flat stone he had found and continued looking for ax-like ones, still not entirely sure if he knew what shape the Professor wanted exactly.

A heart-shaped stone caught his attention. He plucked it up and looked at it. That would be very romantic if he had a girlfriend to give it to. But he didn't have a girlfriend, and he certainly didn't even want a girlfriend. He could give it to Mary Ann... but she might get the wrong idea. He could give it to Ginger, but she'd definitely get the wrong idea. So he pocketed that stone as well. Maybe he could give it to his mother when he saw her again. That was one of the only things he missed about home.

Gilligan looked around at the Skipper, Professor, and Mary Ann to see what kinds of stones they were considering. Skipper was holding a relatively flat one, looking it over. Then he shook his head and tossed it aside. The Professor held a larger stone that looked nothing like the shape of the first one he showed them, but he was rubbing it with his thumb, maybe testing out the texture of it so he'd know if he could re-shape it.

"What do you think of this one, Professor?" Mary Ann called out, holding a stone up for the Professor to see. Gilligan studied the stone she held. If it was a good one, it could be another model for him to base his search off of.

"That one might work," the Professor told her. "Good work, Mary Ann. Put it over with the other one."

"I'll take it over for you," Gilligan offered.

"Thank you, Gilligan," Mary Ann smiled, handing the stone over to him.

He took the stone and walked over to the rock where Ginger sat. As he walked, he looked down at the stone. He turned it over in his hands. It was quite similar to the one the Professor had shown them. He was almost there when he tripped and stumbled, almost falling onto Ginger.

"Gilligan!" Ginger gasped, holding her hands out to steady him, "are you alright?"

Gilligan nodded, "yep," he grinned, "guess I should watch where I'm going, huh?"

Ginger nodded, "probably."

Gilligan laid the stone down next to the other one and looked at Ginger, "How come you're not looking?" he asked.

Ginger shrugged, "I wasn't having any luck. I'm thinking of going to help Mr. And Mrs. Howell instead. We don't need five people here all looking for stones, don't you think?"

"I don't know," Gilligan shrugged.

"Well, I think there are enough people here, and it's very hard for me to walk on these jagged rocks when I'm wearing high heels!" she complained.

Gilligan frowned, "why are you wearing high heels?" he asked.

"I don't have any other shoes, Gilligan," she told him, "I'd borrow some of Mary Ann's but they are a size and a half too small... I don't always wear shoes around the huts because it's sandy there, but walking on these rocks without shoes would kill my feet."

Gilligan nodded, "Yeah. It probably would hurt."

"Well," Ginger stood up, "I'm going to go help the Howell's. You're welcome to come with me."

"Okay," Gilligan agreed. He didn't much want to search for stones anyway. Mary Ann, the Professor, and Skipper seemed to know what they were doing. They didn't need him there goofing it all up, and the Howell's were probably put in charge of something easy.

"Professor," Ginger called out, "Gilligan and I are going to go help the Howells."

"Okay. Hold up just a moment so I can explain to Gilligan what to do," he made his way over to them, "Mr. and Mrs. Howell have been put in charge of searching for the sisal plant. I've seen it around the island before, and we've used it before to make rope, but we'll need a lot more rope if we're going to have a boat with sails. The sisal plant leaves look somewhat like pineapple leaves, so you'll know you've found it if it looks like the top of a pineapple."

"How will I know it's a sisal plant and not a pineapple?" Gilligan asked.

He saw a flash of amusement in the Professor's eyes, but no smile this time, "If you find something that you think is either sisal or a pineapple, just bring it back to camp, and we'll sort it out later. We could always stand to have extra pineapples."

Gilligan nodded. He liked pineapples. He wondered if any of the pineapples he had eaten had actually been sisal plants. Did they taste the same?

"The leaves of the sisal plant are the part that's important," the Professor explained, "but if you find something you think is a pineapple, go ahead and bring back the whole plant if you want to. It's not unheard of to create certain fibers out of pineapple leaves as well, so we may just be able to use them somehow. But perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Howell could show you a sisal plant so that you'll see the difference. I think once you've seen a sisal, you won't easily confuse it with a pineapple plant. The leaves are simply somewhat similar in appearance to pineapple leaves. The actual plants vary tremendously visually."

"Um hmm," Gilligan nodded. He thought he could probably handle that.

"Alright then," Ginger started walking down the rocky slope and back toward camp, "Gilligan," she pouted, "will you help me so I don't fall down?" She smiled at him seductively, slowly tucked her hair behind her ear, and started blinking more than it seemed she should have, probably to show off her eyelashes or something. Gilligan didn't know why she always acted like that. When she tried to flirt with him, it just made him nervous. He'd be more happy to help her or give her something she wanted if she'd just ask nicely like Mary Ann always did. When she acted like she might kiss him or something, it made him want to keep his distance as much as possible.

But of course Gilligan agreed to help her down the somewhat steep slope of the rocky area. Even though she made him nervous, he still liked her, and he didn't want her to fall down and get hurt. So he offered his elbow, which she held onto as they walked down the slope together.

"Thank you Gilligan," she said, still keeping her voice seductive.

Gilligan nodded, "Yep," he said and unhooked his arm from her grip as soon as they had made it back onto solid stone-less ground, "So," he changed the subject, "where are the Howells? Where are we supposed to look for this sisal plant?"

Ginger shrugged, "Somewhere in the jungle I guess."

"Should we look for them? Or just start looking for the plant? Do you know what it looks like?" Gilligan asked.

"Well, let's sort of look for them, but look for the plant at the same time. I'm fairly certain I know what it looks like," Ginger suggested, "And I wouldn't be surprised if they were back at their hut being lazy again."

"Maybe we should go back to camp and check, and then convince them to help if they are still there," Gilligan suggested.

Ginger nodded, "It's about time they actually help with something."

_**xxxxxx**_

_**That wasn't very eventful. Considering how long the chapter is, I think it went by pretty fast. That means perhaps I am writing at about a 6th grade reading level. (It can't be too high of a level. I don't know that many words... I'm not very articulate all the time... It's a shame; I'm just smart enough to know that being smart is too stressful, and I'm sort of dumb, but not dumb enough to live in an ignorant bliss. I'm getting closer to that ignorant bliss though. As soon as I find an undiscovered island, I'll be set for life... I'll live there and be so stupid, and it will be fabulous.) **_

_**Good news though, (getting back on-topic) the castaways have finally thought of a smarter tool than a sea shell saw! They are moving up in the world technologically! Soon they will be at caveman level! Stone tools are very basic things. Even chimpanzees sort of use them... What were you thinking, Professor! He was just so excited, his brain must have forgotten to turn on at first... The only thing wrong with stone tools is that you can't make very good tongue twisters with them... You may be able to literally twist your tongue with a stone tool though. I could see something like that happen in one of the Saw movies. You guys probably don't watch those though...**_

_**I try to include all of the characters, and not just a little comment here and there. I mean I like to have them each get at least a semi-long scene of their own (and by that, I mean a segment where they interact with Gilligan a lot, because the story follows him.) Unfortunately, it's hard for me to picture Gilligan and Mrs. Howell having much interaction at all... I can picture Mr. Howell hanging around Gilligan... but really, Mrs. Howell by herself is pretty worthless... As with my previous story, Gilligan, Skipper, and the Professor are getting the most "screen time" or you might say "page time." They are just the most important characters, I guess. The Smart one, the Leader, and the Goofball... Then Mary Ann sort of gets a larger role than the others, because she's nice and is Gilligan's buddy. But Ginger is sort of boring... I love Mr. Howell. He's really funny, but his wife is always there, and I hate her... Oh, I hate her so much... She's just like Mr. Howell only not as funny. And we all know old men are cuter than old women. (which makes me sad, because I'll be an old woman someday... :( An ugly stupid old woman...)  
**_

_**I suppose my Gilligan's Island stories are just doomed to exclude Ginger and Mrs. Howell, and unfortunately, Mr. Howell sort of gets left out a lot too, even though he's my second-favourite character in the show. Maybe one day I'll write a story where Mr. and Mrs. Howell adopt Ginger and they can all be the main characters. Just kidding. I think I'd hate writing that. I'll really try to include Mr. Howell more in this though, because he's so silly. ^_^**_

_**Through all of my Gilligan's Island writing, I have been plagued with a delima... Do I capitalize "Professor" or not? I know it's not a proper noun, because he's the professor, just like I am the girl. But because I never use his real name, I feel like "Professor" is sort of his name... So I don't capitalize the, but I do capitalize "Professor" most of the time. I have some weirdo unwritten rule in my head about when I capitalize it and when I don't... I don't know... "Skipper" is always capitalized though, just like "Mother" would be when using it in place of a name, like "Mother, I love you," but not in "she is my mother." Also, when I was little and watched Gilligan's Island all the time, I really thought his actual name was Skipper, and I thought it was funny, because one of the Barbie dolls is named Skipper, and I thought "Why is that big fat man named Skipper! That's a girl's name!"  
**_

_**Oh no! Sorry for the huge off-topic Author's Note! I shouldn't have done that...  
**_


	5. A HugFull of Sisal

Laments of a Soon-To-Be "Rescued" Sailor: (Gilligan Goes Emo)

Chapter 5: A Hug-Full of Sisal

**_xxxxxx_**

When Ginger and Gilligan made it back to camp, everything was still and silent. It seemed no one was home. Just to make certain, however, they walked over to the hut Mr. And Mrs. Howell shared. If they were around camp, it would be likely that they'd be hiding in their hut, just in case anyone walked through. In order to avoid work, they would likely wish to remain well hidden.

Ginger knocked on the door, "Mr. and Mrs. Howell?" She called out, "are you in there?"

They didn't receive an obvious answer, no 'yes' or 'no' or 'of course; do come in!' They didn't even receive silence as an answer. Instead, they could hear shuffling and whispers coming from inside the hut. Gilligan could make out a bit of the whispering.

_"Shhh... Lovey..." _he heard Mr. Howell's muffled voice, _"Stay away from the window... shhhhh!"_

_"Oh, Thurston, should we tell them no one's home?" _Mrs. Howell whispered.

Gilligan and Ginger exchanged confused glances, then they pressed their ears up against the door to hear more.

_"Lovey, they'll know someone is here if we tell them no one's home," _Mr. Howell's whispering continued, _"We've just got to keep quiet until they're convinced the hut is empty. They'll go away if we don't say anything._"

_"But what if they come in?"_ Mrs. Howell whispered.

_"Would they dare snoop around a Howell's hut!"_ Mr. Howell's quiet voice raised slightly in volume.

"Mr. Howell?" Gilligan called out as he knocked on the door again, "Mrs. Howell?"

"We're not home!" Mrs. Howell answered.

_"Lovey! Shhhhhh!" _they could hear Mr. Howell's hushed exclamation, _"What did I tell you, dear! You can't tell people you aren't home! They'll know you're here. How else could you tell them that you aren't! Now they surely know we're home..."_

"Can we come in?" Gilligan asked.

He and Ginger stepped back as the hut's door swung open. Mr. Howell stood in the door way, "Well, hello there, Gilligan, Ginger," he smiled, "fine day, isn't it? Would you like to come in? We were just going to have a glass of brandy. You two are welcome to join us, free of charge this time."

"Oooh," Gilligan was tempted to accept this offer. He didn't know what brandy tasted like, but Mr. Howell didn't usually let him have anything from his personal heap of belongings for free. He let him borrow his teddy bear sometimes, but even that he did reluctantly and rarely.

"It's not even noon yet!" Ginger exclaimed, "and you're already drinking? Besides, aren't you two supposed to be looking for something?"

Mr. Howell shrugged, "Not that I know of. What, have you lost something, dear? Gilligan can help you find it, I'm sure. He's always finding odd bits, that boy. Empty out his pockets and you'll probably find every trinket any of us has ever lost."

Ginger pouted, crossing her arms over her chest and sticking her lower lip out slightly, "You know what I'm talking about, Mr. Howell. The Professor asked you to look for the sisal plant, remember? Have you found any? Or have you just been here all morning? I hardly think it's fair that you two haven't helped at all. We all want to be rescued, but it'll never happen if we don't all work together. If you don't help, that's a lot of extra work for everyone else."

"We did find one; remember, Thurston?" Mrs. Howell joined in the conversation, "It's a dreadful plant, you know. Terribly pointy, like a porcupine. I almost cut my poor little finger. And I believe I may have stained my gloves," She handed some white gloves with green smudges on them over to Ginger, "would you mind trying to wash them, dear? If the stains won't come out, you can keep them. I have no use for stained gloves."

Ginger looked shocked.

"Or Mary Ann can wash them," Mrs. Howell offered, seeing that she had offended the actress.

"I can do it," Gilligan offered, taking the gloves, "but first we need to find some more of that plant. The Professor says we're going to need a lot of it, so we need to work together and find as much as we can." Considering that he was the one who wanted off the island the least, Gilligan was making the most effort of the four of them to try to succeed in their escape plan. These three sure were making the plan as complicated as they could. All they had to do was stop arguing and start helping, but all three of them were concerned with whether or not everyone else was helping, so instead of helping out themselves, they each simply sat back and complained about each other.

"Gilligan's right," Ginger agreed, "Two of us can search the north side of the island, and two can search the south side."

"Very well," Mr. Howell reluctantly agreed, "Come along Lovey." Mrs. Howell took her husbands hand and they were about to walk off when Ginger stopped them.

"Not so fast," she frowned, "if you two go together, who will make sure you even work? Whose to say the two of you won't just find a beach somewhere and sit down and relax? If You two go off together, Gilligan and I will end up doing all the work."

"Right you are, dear," Mr. Howell commented, "and someone has got to make sure you and Gilligan work as well. I know you, Ginger, have a reputation for sitting back and not getting anything done. So Lovey," he looked at his wife, "I'm putting you in charge of making sure Ginger helps you find some of that sisal plant. And I'll go with Gilligan."

Ginger frowned, "You're one to talk," she muttered.

"Oh, come along dear," Mrs. Howell tugged her along toward the jungle, "we'll find twice as much sisal as they will."

Gilligan followed Mr. Howell the other direction.

"So do you know what we're looking for?" Gilligan asked, "the Professor said it looks kind of like a pineapple, but that it isn't a pineapple, but if I find a pineapple, I can go ahead and bring that back too. But he also said that you'd know what we were looking for and that you could show me what it looks like and then I wouldn't have to worry about confusing it with a pineapple, because they look similar, but not exactly alike. But he also said pineapple leaves may be useful too. And I know if I brought back some pineapples, no one would be angry, because I think everyone likes pineapples. I know I do."

"Hush, boy," Mr. Howell sighed, "you'll make me forget what I'm looking for. If we come back with a bunch of pineapples, I'm blaming you."

Gilligan nodded, "sorry," he said, "If you find one, will you show me so I know what it looks like?"

Mr. Howell nodded, "Yes, yes, but I only anticipate that we'll need one plant, Gilligan."

"Really?" Gilligan asked, "are they really big? Because Professor said we'd need lots of rope-"

"Will you stop interrupting me, boy?" Mr. Howell sighed, "You'd think the Skipper would have taught you better manners. But then... The Skipper himself isn't quite as polite as he should be... Perhaps you left home too soon. You probably would have benefited from more time spent with your mother. Mothers always are a wonder at teaching their sons manners, you know. I never spent much time with my own mother... but that's a different story."

Gilligan narrowed his eyes, "Is that why you don't have any manners?" he asked.

"Hush now," Mr. Howell ignored his question, "Here's the plant we're looking for." He walked over to a spiny looking plant protruding from the ground. Gilligan followed and looked over his shoulder as he squatted down and plucked a leaf off, "This is the only one we'll need to find."

"But it doesn't look like it will make too much rope, Mr. Howell," Gilligan protested, "I think we should keep looking."

"Nonsense," Mr. Howell disagreed, "Just pluck all the leaves off of this one. It's rather big, I'd say. We'll claim we found three small ones and call it a day."

"Hmmm... I don't know..." Gilligan hesitated, "that doesn't seem very honest."

"A boy your age shouldn't be concerned about honesty!" Mr. Howell exclaimed, "And you're a sailor, no less. Have you ever heard of an honest sailor?"

"Well sure," Gilligan responded, "me," he grinned, "and Skipper's pretty honest too, I think."

"Oh, come on, Gilligan," Mr. Howell whined, "this is women's work."

"Well, it's much better than men's work though," Gilligan told him, "Would you rather be chopping down trees? We had to try to saw them down with sea shells yesterday! Oh, you should have seen it! It was terrible. Even Skipper couldn't finish a whole tree. And the shells break all the time, and sometimes they cut into your hand! I think you'd much rather do this stuff, even if it is women's work. Ginger and Mary Ann and Mrs. Howell get all the luck, them being girls and all. Everyone goes easy on them and they always get the jobs that aren't as hard. I can't chop down trees! I don't think I'll even be able to do it with a stone ax! What am I going to do! Skipper and the Professor are going to be so disappointed in me!"

"Calm down, lad," Mr. Howell placed his hand on Gilligan's shoulder looked at him as though he was crazy. He supposed his explanation to Mr. Howell about why women's work was more preferable had indeed turned into a somewhat panicked rant.

Gilligan breathed out and looked up at Mr. Howell.

"No one is going to be disappointed in you, Gilligan," Mr. Howell assured him, "Do you honestly think they expect you to be able to do back-breaking work like that? Why, you're just a boy! And a skinny boy at that! I'd be more able to do it than you, and I'm terrible at such things. They'd be mad to expect you to be successful in chopping down trees! Have they no observation skills whatsoever? Why would they possibly expect you to do such work!"

Gilligan frowned. Was this supposed to make him feel better? It only made him feel like more of a disappointment. Not only could he not do hard work, but everyone didn't even expect him to. They all knew he was a failure.

"Why don't you and I go back to the huts for a drink, hm?" Mr. Howell offered, obviously noticing Gilligan's melancholy expression.

Gilligan shook his head, "If I can't do the men's work, I want to at least do the women's work. If I don't even do the easy stuff, everyone will definitely be disappointed in me, and you know it. Maybe they think I'm not good at doing difficult stuff, but I can at least pick some grass. How could I possibly mess that up? I know what I'm looking for now. I can do this job well, and no one will have any right to be disappointed."

Mr. Howell sighed, "Ginger and Mrs. Howell will pick enough to make the ropes," he tried to assure the first mate, "You don't want to search for hours and pick all of these leaves for nothing, do you? If we keep looking, we'll find too much of the plant, and we'll have done all this work for nothing."

"What if Ginger and Mrs. Howell are saying the same thing?" Gilligan asked.

Mr. Howell gasped, "they wouldn't!"

"Well, why not?" Gilligan persisted, "you think they'll find enough. Maybe they think we will, so they're not working either. Maybe they're already back at the huts drinking brandy. If we don't find enough sisal, maybe no one will find it! And you'll never get to go back home to your money."

"Well, if they aren't working, I sure don't want to do everything all by myself!" Mr. Howell exclaimed, "I won't let them sit back while I keep working! That's not the kind of person I am! A Howell doesn't work while others sit back and drink his brandy!"

Gilligan frowned, "they probably aren't really drinking your brandy."

"Well, there's only one way to find out!" he turned and started walking back toward the camp, "I'll not waste away my day picking leaves when my brandy is at stake!"

Gilligan sighed and sat down next to the prickly plant Mr. Howell had found, "I guess it's just you and me from now on," he told the plant, wrapping his arm around it somewhat as though it was his long time pal, "Ouch," he drew his hand back when one of the pointed leaves pricked his finger, "I guess you don't want to be friends," he commented, "Well, the Professor says we need your leaves, so I'm going to have to take them, whether you like it or not."

Gilligan plucked all of the leaves off the plant and laid them in a neat pile. Then he looked around for more of the same kind of plant. If Ginger and Mrs. Howell really weren't going to collect any of the plant, it would be entirely up to Gilligan. This meant, if he didn't do it, no one would. The sisal plant could possibly be his responsibility alone. If he found lots of it, everyone would be proud. But then, he'd probably want to give the Howells and Ginger some credit too, so they wouldn't look bad to the others. Still, if he found tons and tons of the sisal plant and brought it all back with him, Ginger, the Howells, and Gilligan would all know that Gilligan had done a good job all by himself.

He took off his red shirt and tied the sleeves around the small bundle of leaves. When he found more plants, he'd have a huge bundle to bring back, and his sleeves would end up being stretched around the bundle. It would seem as though his shirt was alive and it would look like it was hugging the sisal leaves, even though the sisal plant wasn't friendly and liked to jab people's fingers. Luckily for his shirt, it didn't have fingers to be jabbed.

There didn't seem to be any sisal plants in the near-by area; Gilligan would have to venture further into the jungle. He wouldn't come back to camp until he had enough leaves that he'd barely be able to tie his shirt around them. He would call it a hug-full of sisal leaves, because his shirt would be hugging them.

But finding the sisal plant wasn't as easy as Mr. Howell made it look. Mr. Howell had spotted a plant almost immediately, but Gilligan couldn't seem to find any at all, even after fifteen minutes of searching. He supposed it might be easier if he knew what conditions they liked to grow in. Did they like the shade? Or the sunlight? Where had the last one been? He couldn't remember. He looked down at the bundle of leaves, "Where are your friends?" he asked it. It didn't answer. He didn't expect it to.

From one edge of the jungle to the other, he searched. When he made it to the beach, he decided to take a lunch break. He hadn't found anything... He figured he probably hadn't been looking carefully enough. He'd have to go back through and look with a more careful eye, but not before he had some lunch.

There was a delicious looking bunch of bananas hanging from a low branch, and he was getting pretty hungry from searching all morning. So he placed the bundle of leaves next to himself as he sat down and had a couple bananas. He really liked bananas. Skipper, and probably everyone else on the island besides Gilligan, were so sick of bananas and coconuts and all the delicious island food. They wanted stuff they were used to getting at home, like hamburgers, french fries, and apple pies. Gilligan liked those things too, but he decided he'd never get tired of bananas. Especially not these bananas. They were a hundred times tastier than ones he used to buy at the store.

Gilligan laid back on the sandy beach. It was sunny and warm. He just loved this island. He could easily fall asleep right here. What use did he have for a bed when he had a warm sandy beach he could sleep on? He decided to close his eyes for just a moment. It was only early afternoon. He still had lots of time to search for the sisal plant. Even if he took a little nap, he could still find a hug-full of sisal and still be back to camp before dark.

Gilligan's naps almost always contained dreams, and this nap was no exception. His dream was wonderful:

_Edgar the chimp walked up to him with a big barrel overflowing with sisal leaves._

_Gilligan picked the barrel up effortlessly and made his way back to camp. He put the barrel down and attached a note which read: "Here are some sisals. There must be seven hugs-full in there! Edgar did most of the work, so give him lots of bananas when you see him next!"_

_"Let's go, Edgar," he smiled, taking Edgar's hand and walking toward the waterfall in the center of their island._

_Then they were in a canoe, fishing for rainbow fish. Sometimes the fish would leap over the boat. The sun would make their scales look extra sparkly. Gilligan's and Edgar's fishing lines didn't have hooks. The fish somehow just grabbed on and let Gilligan and Edgar reel them in. Then they'd look at the beautiful fish, pat them on their scaly heads, and toss them gently back into the water so they could swim home to their families._

_They were having a wonderful time._

_But then, clumsy even in his own dreams, Gilligan tumbled out of the boat. He thrashed around in the water, forgetting for a moment that he in fact DID know how to swim. But his arms didn't feel like he was in water. When he moved them they bumped into something solid..._

Gilligan opened his eyes. He wasn't in the water. He was on the sandy beach... On his stomach now. And somehow he had gotten sand all over his face and a little in his mouth. He pulled himself up so that he was on his knees. He brushed the sand off his face and then stuck out his tongue and brushed the sand off that too.

Gilligan stretched his arms out and yawned. He looked out at the water. The sun was starting to set. How had he slept for hours? He hadn't realized he was so tired, and his dream only seemed to last a minute or two at the most... He needed to find some sisal, and fast! The Professor, Mary Ann, and Skipper had probably already found all the stones they needed hours ago. And if Ginger and Mrs. Howell had really been looking for sisal all this time, they had probably found acres of it by now!

So he picked up his bundle of sisal leaves and continued his search.

It was getting darker and darker by the minute, and he still hadn't found any more plants than the first one Mr. Howell had shown him. At this rate, everyone was going to be angry with him for sure. He hadn't meant to be, but he ended up being very lazy. He had fallen asleep on the job... again. If he didn't find any soon, he would probably not find any at all... Soon it would be too dark for him to see the plants, so it would be impossible for him to tell which ones were sisal and which ones weren't.

He wasn't paying attention to where he was going anymore. At first he had been charting the land out somewhat in his head, trying to search all of it in a sort of ordered fashion. But now he was just stumbling around, looking frantically this way and that.

Unsurprisingly, Gilligan tripped over a root, landing flat on his stomach. His little bundle of sisal leaves fell out of his hand and into a bush, but he wasn't concerned with it for a moment as he fought with his lungs, trying to convince them to let in some air. Gilligan groaned as he pulled himself up off the ground and searched for his sisal bundle. His ribs sort of hurt now.

But all the unpleasant throbbing in his ribs seemed to disappear when he saw where his sisal bundle had landed. Gilligan grinned and staggered like a zombie over toward the shirt-wrapped bundle of sisal, which lay within the leaves of another sisal plant, which stood next to three other sisal plants. His hug-full of sisal was right there! Just waiting to be plucked... So he began plucking up the leaves, careful to avoid getting his fingers pricked. Within twelve minutes, his sisal bundle had increased five times it's original size. He didn't quite have a hug-full of sisal, but he certainly had a lot more than he had before.

Gripping his near-hug-full of sisal, Gilligan started back toward camp. He didn't know if his co-castaways would be proud of his find or not. They may have found more than he did, and it took him much longer to find it than it probably took them... But at the moment, he was proud of himself, and for now, he was in the company of only himself, so his opinion was the only one. So far, today had been a victory. Only time would tell if the others felt the same way...

**_xxxxxx_**

**_I call their hut area "camp" because I don't know what else to call it... I know "camp" doesn't seem quite right... I'd call it "home" but I feel like the whole island is "home" (maybe to Gilligan anyway...) So when I say "camp" I mean that little sandy area where all their huts are. Surely you know that already though, because I think I've been calling it camp through this whole story and through my last one as well. ^_^_**

**_Also, I know Gilligan isn't being very emo... but I just write what I feel like writing, and I don't feel like making him TOO emo... Having him actually cut himself and stuff just seems wrong... He's still a little emo though, I suppose, blaming himself for everything and expecting everyone to be disappointed in him all the time..._**

**_And remember, he wears a t-shirt under his red shirt, so he still had that on when he was collecting all that sisal... Perverts. ;)  
_**


End file.
